Rising to meet the future means dropping dead weight
I’ve spent the past few days mourning the loss of important people in my life.
It was a normal day until I decided to stop in for a visit and sat at the table for dinner. They both had smartphones in one hand and a fork in the other, never making eye contact with me the whole time. As they ate, they began to spew the most vile garbage in the most casual manner, completely unaware of it; Heads in the clouds, in some sort of coma.
They advocated killing people, spraying them with raw sewage, and throwing them out of the country, for things beyond those people’s control; their skin color, hairstyle, heritage, place of birth, sexual orientation, and medical conditions, and for things they have a right to do, like peacefully protest or restrict the services their private businesses provide. They expressed anger, hatred, and rage at people they’ve never even met and at politicians in states hundreds of miles away, who don’t impact their lives whatsoever. They put people down using derogatory labels and slurs that ranged from calling people “Karens” and comparing them to animals, to blaming serious medical and economic problems on religious groups and minorities.
They did all of this over a span of 28 minutes without speaking a word, by sharing posts on social media.
I listened as the newscaster in the background described something for 2 minutes and followed up with 20 minutes of commentary to make sure his viewers thought the “correct” way about it, and started to feel something, a strange mixture of panic and sadness. It felt as if part of me was being ripped away, like severing a limb, but part of my soul. The feeling was that of extreme embarrassment; grave disappointment. I had a certain faith and trust in the quality of their character and judgment; their independence; in who they were as people, and they let me down.
Their presence feels alien now. These are not the people I was once close to, with whom I shared intimate and personal details about my life, my fears, secrets, and aspirations. These are not the people who taught me how to ride a bike, or play hopscotch, or skip rocks across the surface of the Potomac. These are not the people who taught me to say “please” and “thank you,” or to pick up after myself, or cover my cough. These people are foreign! They’re strangers.
They’re dead.
My mother and father have become what they feared video games would do to me.
They fell into an echo chamber and crawled out transformed, into violent, angry caricatures of Frankenstein’s monster, trapped in ignorant bliss like a tone deaf contestant on American Idol shrieking the national anthem like nails on a chalkboard. This must be what it’s like to love a drug addict as they slowly spiral downhill. Their fix is a need for approval, through a few “likes” from the “friends” who haven’t yet hidden them from their feeds. They unknowingly sacrifice real relationships for a digital sense of belonging, acceptance, and comfort.
I’ve since found many other people in similar situations. This truly saddens me, but it somehow makes the grieving process easier, because I’m not alone.
Our world is changing before our eyes, whether we realize it or not, and whether we like it or not. Some will embrace it, others will have to be dragged kicking and screaming, and still others must be left to their own devices until their bubbles pop, perhaps decades from now, perhaps never. Not everyone can be saved, including people you love, at least not saved by you. Know when to quit and move on. Redirect your efforts to things that matter, that you know you can do.
Families and communities aren’t determined by birth or blood, but by who’s close to you, who understands you, who respects, appreciates, and values you. The path ahead demands that we repair and build real communities and social bonds around those things that matter. We are obligated to make our future regardless of our political overseers or any other obstacles in our way. We’ll get through it because we must. We don’t have a choice, so long as time ticks.
Justin Sims is a resident of Uniontown.